


so suddenly i'm in love with a stranger

by coffee_music_books



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: F/F, I promise, Soulmate AU, and vice versa, it's cute, marks on your skin appear on your soulmates, romantic & nonromantic soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-23 04:13:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10711959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffee_music_books/pseuds/coffee_music_books
Summary: Based on the following prompt idea i stole from a post i found on the interweb after googling "soulmate AU ideas":"Whatever mark you get on your skin your soulmate gets it too so one day, you just kind of just get a sharpie and start writing on your skin. You definitely didn’t expect to get a reply, but you did."This is canon compliant in terms of the curse, but diverges in some of the scenes that appear in the episodes. Also, Champ goes away waaaay earlier here.





	so suddenly i'm in love with a stranger

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from Fresh Eyes by Andy Grammer

Curtis used to talk to you about soulmates. "They exist," he'd whisper, eyes excited and smile bright. "You know how I know?"

 

You'd play right into his hands, tucked into your bed, looking up at him hopefully. "How, Uncle Curtis?"

 

"Because Gus is  _my_ soulmate. We have the same birthmark on our wrists." And he'd show you, again, the little blotch on the inside of his wrist, and you'd recognize it from when you saw it on Gus's wrist while you were helping her wash the dishes after dinner, or in the garden, or when she's brushing your long hair. 

 

You feel the same bubble of hope in your chest when you see it, that maybe there's someone out there who will love you. Lord knows Daddy wasn't your soulmate, and Wynonna and Willa had each other. You wonder what it feels like to not be so alone. "When will I meet  _my_ soulmate, Uncle Curtis?" you'd ask, wrapping your little fingers around his arm. "And  _how_?" 

 

He would shrug, eyes twinkling, and place his big, calloused palm over your hands. He'd rub his thumb across your fingers and smile. "I don't know yet, Waverly, darlin'. But when you do, you'll know." Always so vague.

 

Most people don't believe in soulmates. Wynonna never did. She said that she didn't even  _want_ a soulmate, so she's glad they don't exist. But you always believed. Gus and Curtis had matching marks. You've heard the stories of people curing color blindness with their soulmate, matching tattoos and birthmarks. Sometimes things that could be explained away by coincidence, sometimes more surreal, like writing appearing on skin or hearing each other's thoughts when they  _really tried_. 

 

Either way, you reason, someone  _must_ be out there who will love you the way you want. 

 

Right?

 

Your imagination gets the better of you. You claim to hear voices, have birthmarks and cuts and bruises that weren't there yesterday. Every time, you run and tell Wynonna and Gus and Curtis. Wynonna tells you to stop acting crazy, that was her job. Gus tells you to be careful getting your head caught up in the clouds. And Curtis tells you to never stop believing. So you don't.

 

When you're in eighth grade, you and Stephanie and Chrissy are having a playdate in your house and talking about soulmates. Stephanie laughs them off, dismissing you as crazy  _just like your sister_. You bite your tongue. Chrissy picks up a sharpie from the desk in her room and draws a heart on the underside of her wrist, near the base of her thumb. She takes your hand and does the same, and when you ask her what she's doing, she looks at your face and smiles. "Now we're soulmates. Right?" You smile and nod and feel warm and happy and accepted.

 

Stephanie rolls her eyes. You and Chrissy ignore her anyway.

 

When you wake up the next morning, there's purple writing on your arm under the sharpie heart.  _Is someone there?_

 

You leap out of bed, excited and disbelieving, and grab a pen from your backpack. You write  _hello?_ and sit, staring at your arm.

 

You feel a little tickle on the back of your hand, and when you flip it over, you see more purple writing.  _What the HELL is going on_ _?_

 

You introduce yourself in black ink on your knee, and she responds with  _I'm Nicole_ across the top of your foot. 

 

You can't believe it, but you write back to her  _I think we're soulmates, Nicole_ _._ And you smile and laugh out loud. Wynonna yells at you from the next room to shut up, she's trying to sleep, and Gus calls you down for breakfast.

 

You wear a thick sweater and jeans to school so no one can see the writing, and you spend most of math class writing on your arm.  _What color is your hair? Do you have any siblings? What's your favorite flavor of ice cream?_

 

Nicole answers every single one, and seems just as eager to learn about you.  _Red. I have a brother, Ian. Cookie dough. Do you have any pets? What's your favorite song?  Have you ever kissed a boy?_

 

You stop writing to each other during school for a while when your teachers start to yell at you for not paying attention. You don't wash off any of the writing, though, and as it fades, you replace it with more.  _What's your favorite book? Cats or dogs? Do you like pineapple on your pizza?_

 

Nicole is the first to suggest washing the writing off when the weather gets warmer.  _I'm going to be wearing shorts and tank tops soon, for spring. I don't want people reading what we wrote_ _. But when I tried to wash it off, it wouldn't go away. I guess we both have to_. The two of you start learning the rules set by the universe. Anything on her skin appears on yours, and anything on your skin appears on hers. To get rid of the ink you both have to wash it away. You can feel it on your skin when she writes to you, so no writing on the bottoms of her feet. You're ticklish there. 

 

 

 

You keep Nicole a secret, even from Wynonna and Gus. Even Curtis. You love having this special, private thing, and you don't need your family or friends ruining it. 

 

You learn that Nicole is a few months older than you, but since your birthday is in the late summer, she's a year of school ahead of you. She's really good at math, but she struggles with history. She plays junior varsity lacrosse, and she's really good at it, but when she gets hit with the ball, a big purple welt appears on your thigh. It doesn't hurt you, but it's ugly and hard to miss, marring your light tan skin. She spends the next three weeks writing  _I'm sorry_ 's around it in different color ink. 

 

She has red hair and light brown eyes and dimples. She thinks hazel eyes are pretty, and she keeps her hair short because of sports. 

 

She thinks she likes girls the way she likes boys.  _Is that weird?_ she asks you, and you feel the trembling of her hand through the writing as it appears on your wrist.

 

You think for a moment before responding, your blue pen firm in your grip.  _I can't think of anything less weird. Boys are dumb_ , you respond. She draws a big flower on your hip bone. You imagine this faceless girl with firey red hair and deep dimples, smiling down at her own hip in her bedroom.

 

 

 

Stephanie and Chrissy convince you to join the cheerleading team with them sophomore year of high school. They say it's a good way to meet boys, by going to their games and cheering for them, and seeing them at parties on the weekends and they'll recognize you and you'll be so popular. You don't care about any of those things, but Gus says you can't spend all of your time in your room. So you try out. Wynonna makes fun of you when you make the team, but then she goes away and you decide she doesn't get to have an opinion if she isn't here. You tell Nicole that you can't write on your arms or legs anymore unless you wash it off right away. 

 

 _Why, love?_ She's taken to calling you little pet names, and you always blush. 

 

 _My cheerleading uniform is small_.

 

You don't feel a response for a while. But then, across the inside of your calf,  ~~ _at my school cheerleaders are the mean girl_ _s_~~ _why cheerleading? I thought you didn't like sports?_

 

You feel insulted. Mean girls? Stephanie, maybe, but you think you and Chrissy are pretty nice.  _Well, you play a sport. Why can't I?_

 

She must feel guilty. You wish you could hear her voice when she writes.  _I didn't mean it like that. I'm sorry. I hope you have fun._

 

It's the first time you've had a spat of any kind. Nicole doesn't write to you until the end of the night, when she says  _I think we should wash this stuff off then_. You write  _ok_ into your knee, and you go to bed with a queasy feeling in your belly.

 

Cheerleading brings with it invitations to parties with the older kids and the athletes, like the football team and basketball players. Stephanie shoves a boy called Champ at you during one of them and he leans down to kiss you without so much as a hello. You've been drinking, and his hands are warm against your waist as he holds you. You like the feeling of being wanted, and his tongue is soft against your lower lip. You feel yourself whimper when he kisses your neck, and your knees buckle slightly when he bites on the muscle connecting your shoulder and neck.

 

When you wake up the next morning, there's writing on your wrist.  _Why do I have a hickey, Waverly?_

 

You wince.  _I met someone last night_ _. If it makes you feel any better, I have a killer hangover._

 

She doesn't respond for a while. She doesn't write to you at all, actually, for a few months. But every so often you wake up with a little heart on your wrist below the base of your thumb. You don't know why it makes you cry every time.

 

 

 

Champ is a bit of an idiot, but he's a good person, and he likes you a lot. And being with him isn't that bad. Sure, his hands tickle you when they're supposed to feel good, and sometimes he forgets to shave and it rubs at your chin when you kiss. But he buys you flowers for Valentine's Day (even though you think it's a stupid holiday) and takes you to prom. You don't let him give you hickeys anymore when he kisses your neck, but sometimes the skin gets red in certain spots. You pray Nicole doesn't notice that, but you know her well enough by now to know she does, wherever she is. You wonder, sometimes, if Champ believes in soulmates, or if he thinks that you're his. You can't tell if you'd like that or not.

 

More often than you'd like to admit, you wonder about Nicole. Has she found a girl she likes? Does she treat her well? You rarely write to her over the course of your junior year of high school. You spend a lot of time with Stephanie and Chrissy, who seem to like you more now that you have a boyfriend. You stick with cheerleading, and you study for exams and think about college. You get postcards from Wynonna and never know where to send your responses, but at least she still writes.

 

The summer after junior year, you decide to have sex with Champ. He's nice enough and handsome enough and you think you're ready. You go to a party together beforehand, and you use the alcohol to dull your nerves. You wonder if you'll feel different.

 

Champ is gentle, but you wouldn't say loving. As he lays on top of you, you wrap your arms around his shoulders, and you catch a glimpse of a small heart drawn on your wrist, dark against your skin.

 

You don't feel different when it's over, but as you're drifting off to sleep, Champ laying behind you, the last thing in your mind is a girl with red hair. You don't really think about what that means for a while.

 

 

 

You and Champ are the it couple your senior year, as it were. He gets a job working for Curtis after graduation, and you move in with him into an apartment above Shorty's. You take classes online and work at the bar, and life goes on.

 

 _I miss you_ , you write into your belly late one night. Champ is out drinking with friends, and you're alone reading about some obscure dead language. The book is dusty and smells in that way only an old book can, and you sneeze. When you reach up to wipe under your eye with the back of your finger, you see something on your hand.

 

_I'm always here._

 

You start to cry. You didn't realize how lonely you felt in this tiny town without her. You have Champ, and Gus, a job at Shorty's and your books and family history and your fast brain. But you haven't had her. 

 

You pick up your pen and sit with your legs folded. You lean down and write on the inside of your thigh.  _We stopped being us._

 

You feel a little tickle on the top of your opposite foot.  _You have him._

 

 _So I have to give up you?_ You write on your bicep.  _You're making me choose?_

 

 

You feel writing on your collar bone and you have to look in the mirror. It shows up backwards, but you can make out  _I'll never make you choose. But it felt like you did._

 

You decide you don't want to talk anymore. You sit on your bed and breathe. You change into pajamas and brush your teeth, and when the back of your hand gets wet, the ink that was there fades. 

 

Before you turn off the lights and settle under the covers, you draw a little heart above your hip bone.

 

 

It turns into a game.

 

Things with Champ seem to fizzle. You think maybe it's because he cheated on you. You don't tell anyone about that, but he starts sleeping on the couch in the living room and you throw yourself into learning to read hieroglyphics and decipher nineteenth century writings.

 

Every night before bed you draw a tiny heart on some part of your body. Your knee. The curve of your ear. Just under the collar of your shirt. 

 

Every morning, when you wake up, you check your whole body for one back. You find them everywhere. The inside of your elbow. Your pinky toe. The skin of your lower belly. 

 

They always wash off almost immediately, and it feels appropriate. Everything in your life feels like it's floating, temporary and fragile and fleeting. Wynnona is still gone--it's been about a year and a half now since she left--Curtis is having heart problems, and you feel sick when Champ touches you. He mopes around the apartment now, looking at you like everything is your fault now. A small part of you feels guilty, but the larger part of you doesn't care.

 

Perhaps worst of all, you feel like you and Nicole are on different levels. You feel like she resents you, and that makes you feel ashamed and guilty, though for what you're not sure. But you wake up every morning like clockwork with a heart hidden somewhere on your body.

 

You also start waking up with bruises that you didn't have before. They don't hurt, but they bloom purple and blue and  _big_ on your shins and arms, shoulders and ribs. One morning, you find one on your hip that has the distinct outline of what looks like a watch face, and you get worried.  _Nicole, what the hell are these?_ you write, drawing an arrow to point to the latest bruise. 

 

Around lunchtime you feel a tickle on your arm and you see  _Sorry. Physical training at the police academy._ and you smile. 

 

 _I didn't know you were enrolled at the police academy_ you respond on your knee. You don't think anyone will see it while you're behind the bar.

 

She doesn't respond until your shift ends. You're outside running--the weather in Purgatory is still habitable, so at least that's nice--and you feel an itch on your arm under your sweatshirt. You pull your arm out of the sleeve and see  _Oh yeah. Apparently I'm not very good at it._ written over your skin. 

 

When you get home, after your shower, you respond to her and settle into bed with a book. Your blue pen is clear and stark as you write  _You're gonna be great. You've been protecting me for most of my life._ over your calf. You punctuate it with a small heart and go to sleep.

 

You wake up the next morning with a heart on each of your fingertips and one over your heart. You smile.

 

 

 

When Wynonna rolls back into town, all hell breaks loose.

 

Literally.

 

Champ trying to cheat on you with your own sister is just the icing on the cake of these last few weeks. (You so wish you'd hit him just a little with that shotgun.) You're struggling to accept that Uncle Curtis is gone. He was the only father figure you've ever known, and his belief in you and your dreams has kept you sane since Daddy's and Willa's deaths. You don't write to Nicole. You spend a few days locked at home, crying into your pillow. You barely eat and you don't shower, and by the time you step into the light again, you've shed a couple of pounds.

 

You're kidnapped by demons,  **demons** , and you almost die. But you're validated for the first time  _ever_ in your belief in the impossible. When you wake up the morning after the ordeal, there's a nasty bruise around your neck, some littering the rest of your body, and a small cut on your forehead.  _What the fresh hell happened to you?!_ is written across your belly. 

 

 _I was kidnapped and held for ransom. No biggie._   _How've you been?_ you write over your thigh. You take a hot shower and stretch your muscles. You feel okay, and you know those guys are dead, but you can still feel the pull of the rope around your throat, and you'd be lying if you said it didn't scare you just a little bit.

 

 _Waverly. What. the. hell. ARE YOU OKAY?_ You see the writing scribbled across your other thigh.

 

 _I promise, Nicole, I'm fine. I'm sorry about the bruises, though._ You feel the tickle over your ribs.

 

 _Waverly. This is kinda a big deal_. _Someone tried to hurt you. Are you sure you're okay?_

 

 _Well,_ you write on the back of your hand.  _I'd be more forthcoming if you hadn't just tickled me._  You hope she can tell that you're joking, and you hope joking with her will make her see that, aside from being a little bit shaken, you're actually in good spirits. The curse is real and you've known so all along. You feel like a new girl.

 

 _You asked for it_ shows up on your palm and you're confused until you feel a tickle at the bottom of your foot. You squeal into the empty apartment and jump onto your bed to look at what she's written. She's drawn a big flower across the entire bottom of your foot. It's intricate and beautiful--she's always been a pretty good artist--and you can see why you felt it so much. 

 

 _Mean!_ you write over your ankle.  _But beautiful_ _. Thank you._

 

You get a heart on your wrist as a response.

 

 

 

The revenants come back for you again, and your apartment is ransacked. You end up moving into the homestead. It works out nicely, since things with Champ don't seem to be getting any better. When you're carrying boxes up to your room, Wynonna sees one of Nicole's hearts against your skin. "Waves, what's that? You drawing all over your skin now, too?" She snorts. "And I was the crazy one?"

 

You flip over your arm and see the heart on your elbow that you forgot to wash off this morning. You feel the color drain from your face, and when you open your mouth to respond, nothing comes out. Then, your belly seizes, and you make it to the bathroom just in time as you throw up your lunch.

 

"Gross, Waverly. What's wrong with you?" Wynonna says, grimacing in the doorway. You flush the toilet and rinse your mouth out with water twice. 

 

You clear your throat as you turn to face Wynonna, still watching you. "Okay, you have to trust me then." You flip your arms over and show her your hands and wrists. "That heart is the only thing you see written on my skin, right?"

 

Wynonna nods, eyebrows drawn and eyes skeptical. You run back to your old room and grab a marker from your desk. You write  _hey_ on the back of your hand, and then you wait. Wynonna is watching you, looking from your writing to your eyes and back again. "Waverly, what-"

 

You feel the telltale tickle on the inside of your arm and flip it over just in time to see  _hey, pretty lady. what's cookin'?_ appear on your skin. Wynonna's eyes open wide as she sees, and she stares at you in shock. 

 

"Waverly," she says, slowly and trembling. "What the hell?"

 

You smile sideways at her and shrug. "I told you soulmates were real."

 

 

 

You return to working at Shorty's in the next few days. You're cleaning the taps when one explodes all over you, and you're frustrated until you hear a voice. "I didn't know Shorty's had wet t-shirt competitions." When you look over to the entrance to the bar--albeit confused, since the bar is technically closed--you pause for a fraction of a second. 

 

It's not like you've never met someone with red hair before. You stopped assuming each new red-headed person was your soulmate when you were a freshman in high school. One too-many disappointments, and you were getting frustrated. But it can't be a coincidence that this red-head is a cop, or that she has hazel eyes. Or that this red-head is so, so beautiful that your heart literally skips a beat.

 

"You okay?" she asks, taking a few steps into the bar. 

 

You nod and reach for a towel to wipe yourself off. As you do, she settles up to the bar and folds her hands together, thumbs on top. You catch a glimpse of her wrists as her uniform rides up, and you gasp. Could it be...

 

You look up at her face, blushing, and timidly ask, "Nicole?"

 

Her eyes narrow, and she glances from your eyes to your wrists. You flip over your hands to reveal a tiny black heart just below the base of your thumb. 

 

"Waverly?"

 

God, your name sounds so beautiful in her voice. How long have you been imagining what she sounded like, what she looked like. You could never do her justice. She's beautiful, and her eyes are so kind, and she looks at you as though you can't be real either. You reach for her over the bar, and there's beer all over you and she's in her uniform and it's the middle of the day and it couldn't be more perfect or romantic. It may not be how you pictured meeting her, and you wouldn't change a thing if you could.

 

"Waverly, oh my God!" She settles her palms on the counter and pulls herself over it so she's standing in front of you, unobscured. She grabs your face softly in her hands, and she keeps mumbling your name. She hasn't looked away from your face once, as if the moment she does you'll disappear.

 

Nicole wraps her arms around you and pulls you to her. "Wait, wait," you say, tugging at your wet shirt. "I'm soaking wet."

 

Wordlessly, Nicole pulls the garment off of your body. It sticks to your skin and yanks on your hair, and you cover yourself as soon as you can. You feel vulnerable and trusting at the same time, and it's the strangest dichotomy. This is the girl who's written on almost every inch of your skin, but she's never seen you before this moment. She unbuttons her own uniform top and pulls you to her so that you're skin to skin. It feels like breathing for the first time. "I'm sorry I'm sticky," you mumble into her shoulder, wrapping your arms around her middle.

  
She pulls you close and threads her fingers into your hair. It's so soothing, something Uncle Curtis used to do when you were still young and fresh off the loss of half of your family. You can't believe she remembered that you like that. No one has done it for you in years. "Waverly, I couldn't care less. You're  _here_."

 

You pull back so you can look up at her, and she smiles so brightly down at you. She leans forward, two fingers underneath your chin, and presses her lips against yours. You close your eyes and see flowers and hearts against your eyelids as you kiss.

 

 

 

You and Nicole still write to each other sometimes, but the messages are different. _Honey, don't forget to pick up more milk today please_  or  _I unclogged the shower drain again_ _, Waverly, please throw away your hairballs!_  and sometimes  _You were asleep when I left for work and you looked so beautiful_ appear on your arms and hands and legs. She loves you in all the ways you thought your soulmate would and more. She and Wynonna get along beautifully, which is nice since you all share the homestead now. You redecorated Mom and Dad's old room--actually the entire house; the place felt so morbid--and you and Nicole have settled into a wonderful routine.

 

You both keeps pens on your nightstands. Every night before going to sleep you draw a small heart somewhere on your body, and when she gets into bed beside you, you kiss your way from her lips to the fresh tattoo. In the morning when you wake up, you search your body and find a heart from her, too.

 

One morning, when you wake up, you look all over your arms and legs and find nothing. You're startled and sad, but assume she'd overslept and go to take a shower. You take off your pajama shirt and glance in  the mirror. You see, written across your chest in Nicole's perfect handwriting and purple ink  _Will you marry me?_ When you turn around, she's kneeling on the ground with a velvet box in her hand. 

 

You run out of the room and pick up the pen on your nightstand. You can hear her laugh when  _Of course, you idiot_ appears on the inside of her wrist. You glance up in time to see her running in, and she tackles you onto the bed and kisses you senseless.

 


End file.
